


what is worth a life?

by Arzani



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 4x07, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, More angst, Multi, background Flint/Hamilton, background Madi/Silver, heavy cursing, no one betrays no one here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 12:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11509809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: „Is this war more important than her life?“What would have happened, if James had answered this question with a no.





	what is worth a life?

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for [Samhound](http://samhound.tumblr.com/), who asked for angst. Well I can't do more angst than this.  
> I hope you enjoy
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Viv](https://rowanofferelden.tumblr.com/)

_„Is this war more important than her life?“_

The words echoed through James’ mind again and again while he tried to fall asleep. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only an hour or so, he sighed and pushed his blanket aside. There would be no sleep tonight. Certainly not when Silver’s words haunted him like ghosts that weren’t there yet. Madi wasn’t dead yet and he would be damned to let her die.

The captain and strategist in him knew that it was impossible to sacrifice the cash and simultaneously fight this war. They needed it to hold the alliance, to take back Nassau and rebuilt the town. There was no way to give it up. But Silver had looked so broken and furious, and a part of him understood why. When he had lost Thomas, he had been willing to rain down hell on everything in his path and only Miranda’s promise had stopped him from walking straight to Bedlam and get Thomas out, even if it had cost him his life. A part of him still regretted to not have done it. It was a huge part of himself.

Silver must think the same, feel the same and he wouldn’t even have to put his own life on the line. Or anyone’s on the matter. Only risk that all the slaves would be kept slaves, and all the pirates that were captured to be put on the gallons and every man and woman who didn’t love traditionally was about to keep on suffering.

James sighed. There was no going forward or backwards. Not like this. Pushing himself out of bed, he slipped into his boots and walked out of the hut he was sleeping in. Moonlight was filtering through the windows, but he sought open air.

The world looked different at night, it smelled different, felt different. There was no noise, no men shouting or the buzzing of a lively village. Only the cicadas and the hoo hoos of the birds. Colors were erased by the moonlight, the edges softened. Peaceful - the night felt peaceful to James, something he wished of happening soon, but dared to not even dream of.

There had to be a way to save both the war and Madi. There had to be a way to stop making John… _John_ go through the nightmare of losing the woman he loved, again. A safer way than walking into Nassau under the cover of the night and risk the chance of facing insurmountable obstacles.

His gaze drifted to the hut some meters away, in which he hoped John was asleep. Though James doubted he was more successful in getting sleep than him. John… there had to be a way. If only to dull the aching James felt, deep down in his heart that whispered, “Fuck the war” for his quartermaster’s sake. A voice James wasn’t willing to listen to, because it felt too much of a betrayal towards everyone who had died for his madness. Every single man of his crew. Gates. Miranda. Even Vane.

Thomas.

He shook his head and returned to his hut. If only he could convince Rogers to give over Madi without risking the cash. At least not all the cash.

Realization crashed down on him like a wave. For a moment James was unable to move, then he closed his eyes in agony. Something constricted around his heart, but he let it go. Let all of it go when he remembered crystal clear blue eyes, the reason he did all of this. For love.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to no one other than himself. Six hours later, when the sun crawled over the horizon, he put his quill aside and folded the parchment neatly. It would set everything in motion, no matter it was only a few words. The stool scratched over the ground, when James stood up to find Dooley, sleep completely forgotten.

* * *

Two full days had passed. Two days in which James had barely slept at all, which was probably one of the main reasons he stood here, in front of John’s door, contemplating if he should go in or not. The more exhausted part of his brain decided for him eventually and he pushed it open. Maybe John was already asleep and James had a reason to leave again. It was, after all, way after midnight and any sane man would be long into the peaceful slumber that allowed forgetting for a while. Surely John would be, too.

They had barely talked over the last two days and James hadn’t complained. Approval was the last thing he expected from his quartermaster, and he had taken advantage of John’s grief and anger to avoid him. The less knew, the less could stop him, and Madi’s life was too important to risk. Preparations had been easy.

Soft light greeted him when James stepped in. A frown appeared on his face, but it changed into something sad, when he spotted John sitting on the floor, the back to his bed, a mug in his hand and a bottle of rum next to him. Another, empty one, lay forgotten a bit away. James sighed and the sound was enough to draw John’s attention. The second he was seen, John’s expressions hardened.

“Fuck off!” he slurred, placed the mug aside, not without spilling some, and tried to straighten himself. He failed miserably and slumped down even more. It was painful to watch, and James didn’t have it in him to heed the warning glare that was thrown at him. John wouldn’t remember anyway. And it didn’t matter anymore.

“Don’t. Do not come,” John huffed, when James made his way to him, eyes narrowed, black curls wildly hanging over his ice-cold eyes. “Stop!”

James didn’t stop.

“You’re drunk!” he stated, calmly, and stepped closer slowly, the way he would if approaching a wounded animal. The comparison wasn’t too far off, he realized.

“And you’re an asshole.”

The accusation stung, but probably only because James knew John was right, and he wished he wasn’t. Or maybe because John wasn’t and hoped he would be. Everything would be easier without caring for the man. Whatever it was, he kneeled next to his quartermaster, got the mug to put it aside and even placed the bottle of rum out of reach. It was nearly empty.

“I don’t need your help,” John said coldly, or as coldly as he could, being drunk, and lashed out when James reached for him. His hands were slapped away, and James tried automatically to still them by encircling John’s wrist. As soon as he got them, one arm was pulled away and the next moment he felt something sting at his face.

“Your aim sure is good for your state of intoxication,” James mumbled, calmer than he thought possible. Calmer than he felt. Pain was surging through his body, he ached and it wasn’t because of the little wound John’s ring had left closely under his left eye. It bled, but that was his smallest concern.

Silence stretched between them, James holding John’s left wrist, John holding his other hand in the air, still. As if he couldn’t process he had just slapped his captain. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he was only surprised James wasn’t lashing back.

It occurred to James that he still held John’s wrist when the other blinked, and he let go. To guise it John pulled back, but James wasn’t fooled. He had already opened his fingers and John’s “Fuck off!” sounded only half as forceful as before. James stood.

“I wanted to tell you good-bye,” he said, voice as even as he managed. Before John could answer, he added, “But I guess I rather put you to bed beforehand. Come on.”

He gripped John under his armpits with practiced ease and howled him up. How often had he put the man into bed, after the loss of his leg, when he had fallen out of the window seat in a heap of fever? Too fucking often. It was too easy. It felt too familiar. Pliant and without restraint John allowed himself to be lifted, only looked and looked, like he contemplated if this was a dream. Maybe he would think of it as one in the morning. James didn’t know if he preferred it.

When the man was tucked under the blanket, peg leg and remaining boot removed, coat slipped over the shoulders and neatly folded over a near-by chair, John finally spoke. Reaching for the little wound he had caused, he looked almost sorry.

Soft was the blanket James straightened out over John’s body, a poor excuse to explain his lingering presence. He should go.

“What do you mean with good-bye?”

Still a little slurred, but way too sober for John’s inebriation, his voice raised goose-bumps on James’ skin. Their gazes locked and James was mesmerized by the blue of John’s eyes. So stunningly gorgeous and way too familiar in the way they looked at him. It reminded him of Thomas. It was what gave him strength. When John touched his face, he shuddered.

“I’ll get Madi back.”

John’s eyes widened, his hand dropped and he tried to push himself up. But James stopped him, by placing a hand on his chest.

“Don’t,” he said, then he leaned down, never leaving John’s gaze. By now he could smell John’s rum-drenched breath and for a moment his eyes flickered to John’s mouth. A little opened, probably out of surprise, wet from the rum and surely wonderfully soft. James would never find out. “I love you,” he whispered, pressed a kiss to John’s forehead and drew back. “Sleep!”

The last word was close to an order, but James meant it as a request, hoped John would follow through with it, and not look for what all of this was supposed to mean. With swift steps he left the hut, leaving his heart behind. For what he was about to do, he didn’t need it. John had taken hold of it long ago anyway.

Outside he found Joji, Julius and three others of the maroons. All of them muscled guys, swift rowers and skilled with swords and guns. James hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but he didn’t know.

“You packed the chest?” he asked and Joji just nodded. All the concern and sadness from before, the vulnerability and softness, had left James. What he wore now was the mask of Captain Flint, frightening and ready to go to extremes. He stepped directly through the group, towards the harbor. “Well then gentleman, let’s go.”

* * *

When John woke up, he knew two things instantly. It was too late to still get breakfast and his head was killing him.

The light that fell through the windows was blinding, made him groan. The two bottles of rum had been a stupid decision, but he had been so fed up. Fed up by this war, by the never-ending pain in his chest caused from fear over Madi’s well-being and his anger towards Flint.

Flint. God, the fucked-up bastard, who didn’t value life. John had enough of it. Had enough of all of this, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Only one thing was certain to him: this fucking war would take life after life until no one was left. Madi, James. He even feared for his god-forsaken captain, no matter how insufferable he was. Something in John ached at the thought.

James was so focused on his rage, on what he had lost in his life, that he couldn’t see another possibility other than let everything around him burn. Fear was what struck John every time he thought of it. Fear of losing James to the war, of seeing him die right before his own two eyes and not being able to stop it. It filled him with dread. The man was important to him. In what way John didn’t, couldn’t admit, but it was useless to lie to himself. He lied to everyone around him, Madi included, but to lie to himself... It became harder and harder. To deny James meant something (everything) to him was almost impossible by now.

Why did no one understand that all John wanted was to save those close to him, and stop this war, before it could ultimately destroy what it was fought for?

Taking a deep breath, John willed the pain of his throbbing head as far away from his consciousness as possible, and swung his legs over the rim of his bed. Only then he realized he wasn’t wearing his boot, as he wasn’t wearing his peg leg. When he searched the room, he spotted them neatly placed in reach next to the bed, in reach. Blinking, he tried to reconsider what had happened last night. All he could remember was James’ face, close to his, breathing his air and saying, “I love you”. The spot on his forehead he had kissed burned like a mark. It had to be a dream.

Yet the pounding of his heart told him it wasn’t.

“Fuck him,” John muttered, chasing the thoughts away. It was too close to his secret wishes, too close to his silent desires, to even consider it. His drunken mind must have conjured illusions, while his body probably had acted on its own accord. Because if not… if not, the “Good-bye” he remembered sounded too close to a farewell.

* * *

Different smells of food penetrated John’s nostrils and none helped to calm his churning stomach. He had spent most of the day in his room, tried to drink a lot of water and get rid of his hangover. A whole day without food, though, had put a hole in his stomach and no matter how hungry he was, alone the thought of eating left in him the urge to vomit.

The maroons had a habit of eating in one big hall, all together, from the same plates. No separation, no visible hierarchy, all of them equals. It was a sentiment John liked, actually, but now he wished to just get some food and be back to his solitude. Yet, he wanted to give a good example, strengthen this fucking alliance, mingle pirates and maroons, for it was needed to what was about to come. After all James did no such thing. He was nowhere to be seen.

Popping a piece of bread into his mouth, John forced himself to chew and swallow. Chew and swallow. Chew and swallow. It was easy. It would help his sickness. It had to.

Thank god, no one tried to talk to him over dinner. Israel sat next to him, but the man was quiet, knowing it wouldn’t help anyone to force his hungover king to speak. The man was silent enough when it counted and John was grateful for it.

When a horn blew to announce someone was approaching their village, John didn’t give it any thoughts. The maroons still had to get supplies from the outside. It happened now and then. Instead he focused on his meal, on the chicken, and sweet potatoes, and the grapes. He would not eat those grapes. Focus on the simple things. Like chewing and swallowing bread. Not on sea-green eyes and a whispered “I love you” that didn’t want to vanish from his memory.

A fucking dream. It had to be.

Pulled out of his reverie, John let a piece of chicken fall back on his plate, when a boy, maybe fourteen, rushed towards them. Even Israel blinked, but said nothing and returned to his meal when he realized no harm was about to happen. John though looked at the boy, at his dark skin that glistened in the dawning sun. His thoughts wandered to Madi, and he prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that she was safe.

“Mr. Silver,” the boy said, his accent thick, but clear enough to understand. John nodded for him to speak, glad to have an excuse to interrupt the meal. “There is a man at the entrance, saying he’s here on your behalf. His name is Tom Morgan.”

Immediately John’s heart clenched. This… he had forgotten about it over everything, but now it came rushing back to him. Max, and their talk and his immediate assumption.

“Get me to him,” he spoke with as much authority as he could muster and the boy nodded, setting a pace that was fast but slow enough for John, with his leg, to follow. Somehow, he felt even sicker now.

* * *

“He’s alive!”

“Say that again,” John ordered, and Tom Morgan did. It still sounded surreal to John, but he had to believe the man, as he had no reason to lie. No one except him and Madi knew about Thomas, and not even Madi knew about Morgan checking if James’ lost lover may be in Savannah in a working plantation. A place for people unwanted in London to disappear.

It made John sick. Ten years James had believed he had lost Thomas Hamilton, a person still so unknown to John, no matter the stories he had been told, and he still, still, felt close to him. Maybe because of the stories, maybe because it had drawn James closer to him. Maybe because Thomas sounded like a genuinely good man.

He was alive. Alive on this fucking plantation, probably thinking James was dead, as James believed Thomas was.

_“I love you.”_

The words came rushing back to him. It felt like a picture right out of a dream, but it plucked at something in his chest. To an extend John had wanted to use the knowledge, grab the opportunity and show James that not all was lost. That he had reason to survive this war, if Thomas was alive. Which seemed to be true.

But now. Why was it haunting him? Why was the discovery making everything so complicated, now? As if things weren’t complicated enough.

It didn’t change that James needed to know. It wouldn’t be fair to hold the information back. Whatever happened then… well John would find out. Find out if James’ love was strong enough to make him believe him. To love him still.

His heart clenched. What the fuck was he even thinking? There was no proof that he had heard right. A drunken state of mind could conjure so many things and a love confession seemed too good, too pure to be true, especially from James to him. The thought alone that Madi loved him had been overwhelming, but James?

“Is there something more you need to know?” Morgan asked, and pulled John back to present. He hadn’t said anything after Morgan had made his statement. The man had been sent to Savannah without knowing why he was looking for some former Lord. John intended to leave it at that.

“No. Currently that is all. I’ll get back to you, if needed,” John replied, and then pushed himself from the seat he had taken to talk with his comrade. They had sat at some secure place near the entrance but away from nosy folk. No one needed to know. It was James’ story, and that he even had told Madi didn’t always sit right with John. But he believed she was entitled to his secrets. At least his current ones. It was something to tell her, while he couldn’t talk about himself. Hadn’t anything to tell about himself, just what James had made of him.

He was no one from nowhere, no interesting story to impress or delve on. Next to all the complicated feelings, the different opinions he and James had about this war, the fear of losing Madi, and his unaccepted feelings towards James, it didn’t help how he remembered James’ hurt look, when he had stated he couldn’t talk about his past. That a past full of horrors was better left forgotten.

Different thoughts slipped in and out of his mind, while John made his way back to the village’s center. James had been absent for the whole day, but it wasn’t anything particularly weird. The man needed his privacy, and John had not really been talkative the whole day.

His eyes scooted over the huts, the palms and his surroundings. Maroon Island could fool you into believing peace was real. Everything seemed so settled here. People knew what their role was, worked without complaint, lived easily. The air was saturated with the odors of exotic flowers, the distinct smell of jungle humidity and a slight undertone of sea salt. Would James be willing to live here, with Thomas and him and Madi? Would it be enough? Could anything ever be enough for the man?

_“When all of this goes away, Flint’s war, can I be enough for you?”_

He wasn’t even enough for Madi, why should he be for James?

Snorting, he grabbed the depressing thoughts and packed them into a little box, before he banned the box somewhere deep into his mind where he wasn’t able to reach it. Like he had done with all of his horrendous memories. There was always a way.

By now he had made his way to the hut, again, where dinner was just cleaned up by a dozen or so women. Looking for someone familiar, he caught Kofi’s figure somewhere further inside, talking with the queen and decided to ask them first. Maybe Flint had had a meeting with them, which he had decided to attend alone. It wouldn’t surprise John at this state of progress in things. Stubborn bastard.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt you, ma’am,” he addressed the queen, when he was in hearing distance, bowing his head slightly in respect, and then straightened again to better look at the woman. Only the dark rings under her eyes spoke of the great weight she carried, to believe it was really needed to sacrifice her own daughter. A part of John was still furious at her because of it. As he was at James. “Have you seen Captain Flint? I have matters to discuss with him.”

Instead of the queen, Kofi answered, his face hardened and he stepped closer, towering over John.

“We don’t, but if you see him, tell, that standing up a queen speaks of lack of respect.”

The words confused John to great extent. So there really had been a meeting James hadn’t shown up to? Or he had been summoned and hadn’t come? Whatever it was, it was not like James to do such a thing without reason. The thought scared him suddenly.

_“I wanted to tell you good-bye.”_

Oh fuck!

* * *

Three hours and at least fifty people he had talked to later, John knew for certain that James wasn’t in the village anymore. As weren’t Joji, Julius and some other maroons. With every time he had been told that no, no, no one had seen James, his heart had beaten a little faster, his face had gotten a little paler and something heavy had formed in his chest. Something stricken, daring to cut off his breath. Something overwhelming, out of a nightmare.

The man was doing something impossibly stupid again. Which meant in case of Captain fucking Flint, something dangerous. Something bordering on suicide. It wouldn’t surprise John, if James was already standing in his grave with one foot. Nothing of it was reassuring.

When someone touched his shoulder, John swirled around, hand at his sword and expressions contorted. “What?” he barked, fear converted to anger, because it was easier to show. Making him look less weak. Also anger was an emotion he better dealt with.

Before he could stab Ben Gunn, the man lifted his hands in defeat and spoke, almost rattling down what he had to say, to stop John – Long John Silver – from whatever he had in mind of doing.

“I didn’t want to startle you, Mister Silver, I just realized I might have seen something last night that could be of interest.”

“Then do tell,” Silver pressed through gritted teeth, both because this strange feeling of dread had gripped him now harder than before, but because three hours were a fucking long time to remember something of importance, too. It must show on his face, for Ben Gunn stepped back slightly, hands still in the air.

“I woke up in the night to go-,” he started but stopped, flustered. John scowled, his hand still dangerously on his sword, because if Ben wasn’t hurrying up, he didn’t promise to not fulfil his threat. Patience was running low in him.

“Sorry, unimportant. However, I believed to have heard someone sounding like Flint, and he had walked towards the boats. Maybe you should see if all of them are still anchored?”

The moment John heard this piece of information, he froze. Everything fell into place, the images he had hoped to be dreams becoming memories instead. It was horrendous, painful and only the fact that he stood in the middle of the village stopped John from falling to his knees and starting to weep. He didn’t even trust his legs to move him, so he didn’t. Didn’t dare to. Maybe not moving ever again was an option. Just stay here and let time go by until the war is over and everything is right again.

_“I’ll get Madi!”_

Had he really? Was he really? Under the cover of the night, like John had first intended to? Had James really gotten the cash to save Madi? No matter he had been so intent on claiming this war was more important than her life? For what cause?

_“I love you!”_

Oh god!

“Get a shovel, and come back here. Now!” John ordered, looked at Ben Gunn with wild eyes, and had to hold himself back to not lash out, when the man asked, confused.

“But the boats?”

“Fuck the boats. A shovel, if you please.”

Every word was hissed, cold and dangerous, and by now the men feared and loved him enough to obey, because Ben ducked his head, before he turned and made his way. Meanwhile John turned to James’ hut, staring absentmindedly at the door and wondered whether he feared more to be right or wrong.

* * *

Two things were crystal clear. First, James was gone. Second, the chest of gems was still here. The connection however didn’t really reveal itself to John. But the main part of his brain was occupied with being scared, and he blamed his lack of quick wits to it.

Ben Gunn and Hands, who Ben had somehow talked into joining them, had dug up the cash. Not that there had been a lot to dig up at all. It was obvious someone – James – had carelessly moved earth from and back over the chest. The soil was loose and the chest not as deep in the ground as before. John knew, after all he had been there when they had hidden the treasure.

But why had James not taken it with him? All those pouches of gems and pearls shimmered in the evening sun, spilled open before them. Dropping to his knees, John reached for it, ignoring the two figures behind him. Carefully he opened the cords, tried to find reason. All he did find was wealth he didn’t care for anymore.

His head swirled.

“Maybe he wanted to see the cash’s still in its place,” Ben mumbled, and Hands huffed, in his very own way. It sounded like mocking. John tried to ignore the words, the sound. All of it was utter nonsense. James would never!

“Maybe he just took enough to fuck off and never be seen again,” Hands retorted and suddenly John straightened, ignoring the pain that shot up from his bad leg, and swiveled around. His face was a contorted mask. No! Fucking no!

“Say that again,” he demanded and stepped closer to Hands, blue eyes sparkling dangerously.

“He took enough cash to disappear, that fuck,” Hands spat, but there was a gleam in his eyes John didn’t like. It was almost happy, as if he enjoyed the thought that the feared Captain Flint had left like a coward. Lifting his chin slightly, and tightening his hands to fists, John stared the man down.

“Flint is not like Rackham, or Teach, who stick their tails between their legs when things get heated. So fuck off with your assumptions and –“

He stopped in the middle of the sentence, when Hands’ hand shot out to strike him. Before it could happen, though, John gripped the man’s wrist and stopped him. Almost throwing the hand down, he reached for Hands’ collar and dragged him down to his eye-level. It didn’t matter that John was smaller than the redhead. He was angry and scared, and he was done with putting up with assumptions like James had left. People should watch their mouths or die trying.

“Do that again and I’ll gladly rip your throat open. Flint has not left the island to disappear, but to save Madi. And now we’ll get some men and some boats, and we will find and help him!”

Low and dangerous, John had thought his words were enough to shut Hands up, but the man just started to laugh in his face. Irritated by the action John let go of him. Rubbing his neck, Hands never stopped laughing, a dark, maddening sound.

“Follow him? To where? Nassau harbor, or maybe some other meeting point Flint had surely let Rogers know?! There are just a dozen different shores that we could try.” He paused and the silence was too loud, the truth too heavy for John’s taste. A suffocating feeling settled in his veins. “He has a whole day’s advance. By the time we find him he’s dead.”

Hands’ words struck him like canon-balls. Every single one destructive, demolishing one of John’s hopes until only despair was left. He knew what James was trying to do, and in the best case, John would get Madi back, but lose James. In the worst case, both would end up killed.

Whatever the outcome, it was one John knew he couldn’t live with.

* * *

Bolting upwards James woke up with a start, before he realized that it had been a dream, and Madi wasn’t dead. He hoped for John’s sake at least, that it was still true. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and realized the stares. Immediately his mask was back up and he covered his vulnerable heart in anger and rage. A scowl graced his face.

“Where are we?” he asked the men, looking from the chest out to the open water. This boat was too small for his liking but he hadn’t wanted to risk taking something larger. It had to do. This whole god-forsaken plan had to do. There was no other option left.

“Close to the eastern shore of New Providence Island. We should reach it in about two hours,” one of the maroons spoke, and James breathed through his nose, when Joji nodded. He had slept longer than he had attempted to. Actually, he hadn’t wanted to sleep at all, but the nightly activities of digging up and reburying the cash had taken their toll. His back ached from the uncomfortable position his body had been in.

It was a miracle he had even woken up. Julius’ glare was enough to prove the man’s distrust. Time and time again he had spoken against the war, voiced his hatred for him and John and every pirate. He could have killed him in his sleep. But getting Madi back seemed more important. Maybe Joji’s presence was worth something, too. The man was loyal, if not to him, then to John and rescuing Madi was, after all, mostly for John.

Looking around James spotted the outlines of the island. Checking the sun and the distance, he estimated two hours weren’t so far off. Rogers would surely await them, hopefully with Madi and Dooley in tow, so he could turn his plan into action.

With a hand over his eyes, to keep the sun from blinding him, James rolled his shoulders, as he looked on. They felt a little stiff, but he had experienced worse. Gazing at the chest, he just hoped, it was enough to fool Woodes Rogers.

The wooden chest was one from a haul from some weeks ago, smaller than the one full of the gems. James had filled it mostly with soil, rocks and mud, and then placed some of the pouches on top of it. They were filled with rocks, too, only the top contained real gems and pearls. When the lid was opened it looked like the whole chest was full of the Spanish treasure. In reality, it was only a fraction, enough to fool, but not enough to risk the war.

Of course, James wasn’t foolish enough to believe Rogers would be stupid enough to fall for it in the long run. But until then the men would have gotten Madi and be gone and away from Nassau. James would serve as a puffer to grant them time. To know he would be dead in a few hours was a strange feeling. James just hoped God, or whatever force was out there, allowed him to see Thomas again, before he was sent to hell.

“I don’t want you to wait up for me. Simply get Madi and leave,” James said again, facing the men besides him. They nodded, just as they had before, when they had been initiated into the plan. A part of James’ mind wondered if anyone of them was sad about this outcome. Any of his crew?

_“Unbothered by the idea of trading your life for the rest of the crew’s…”_

John would. Of course. He hoped the man forgave him one day.

* * *

“Fuck!”

The bottle crashed against the wall and burst into shards. They mixed with the ones already on the ground. But it was not enough for John and he reached for the mug he had used to get himself drunk. It rattled, but didn’t even leave a dent in the fucking wall.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” The table followed next, flipping the whole damn thing, then he took the chair and smashed it on the floor. Nothing was enough. Not all the destruction around him, not the loud cursing, the trembling of his hands.

“You bastard!” John screamed, hoppling around the room, putting extra weight on his bad leg to make it ache. It was better pain than the one enveloping his heart. “Fucking asshole”

Now the cushion he slept on landed against the wall, not making any sound at all, only a soft thud when it landed on the floor. How could it be so silent when John wanted to be loud?

“Motherfucker!”

All his fear bubbled up, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Anger was easy. Anger was good. Anger would mean he wasn’t breaking down, useless and doomed to wait.

“Fuck you, and your righteousness. Fuck you, and your ‘Good-bye’. Fuck you!” he hissed between gritted teeth. By now he was shaking, his whole body shivered like a leaf in the wind.

“Fuck your ‘I love you’ and then leaving me without a warning. Fuck you for not letting me say it back. Fuck you, James Flint. Fuck you!”

He could deny it all he wanted, but John knew, he had made it to the core of his fear. Love. He loved James, and James loved him and now he would die, before John could tell him. Neither that he loved him, nor that Thomas was alive. All the reasons for James to keep on going, survive all of it because people were waiting for him, lay before John, and James was too far away to tell.

“Please come back.” It came out as a sob, and suddenly all the energy was gone. Crashing on his knees, John buried his face in his hands and cried. He wanted Madi and James back. There was no guarantee either would happen.

* * *

Rogers was there on the beach, as were Madi and Dooley, and – James gave it a quick count – eight other redcoats. And Billy. The fucker.

Eight soldiers plus Billy, ten people, if he counted Rogers and he knew he had to count Rogers, was not too much to defeat, his mind told him. But no, no, it would risk Madi’s life and that would do no one any good.

Not to mention the sandy ground was to their disadvantage. They had to get out of the boat, would have wet, slippery boots and all the redcoats wore guns. Before they reached Madi, she would be dead. It was unmistakable, when Rogers spotted them and lifted his gun to her temple. A lump formed in James’ throat.

“Don’t draw your weapons,” James ordered, when he realized out of the corner of his eye that Julius’ hand had twitched towards his sword. “The moment he believes we want to play him, Madi’s dead.”

It was enough for Julius to drop his hand, again, and James was relieved the man followed his words, despite the situation and his mistrust. Not that he was doing it for him, but that didn’t really matter at the moment.

Fixated on Rogers, his damned smirk and satisfactory expressions, James felt a strange victory over the knowledge that the man would get nothing but dirt. It was better than looking at Madi, her stern face, her hardened eyes and the disappointment visible in every fiber. She believed they were giving up the war for her.

Hopefully she could forgive him, too.

With few practiced movements James and Joji pulled the boat on shore, not too far up the sand, because they had to make it back to the water quickly. Next to them, Julius left the boat as well, while the others stayed. The redcoats had their hands on their guns, Roger still held the barrel to Madi’s head, but his focus was on James.

Both Dooley and Madi were shackled, and James could spot some wounds on Madi’s face, that didn’t belong there. She was a princess, and a lady, and didn’t deserve to be threatened or hurt. She didn’t deserve to be in chains. Yet she looked regal, way more graceful than Rogers ever could be, her head held high and without any trace of fear. God, James knew what John saw in her. She reminded him of Miranda in some way.

His gaze flickered to Dooley. Loyal to a fault, James had never truly recognized it, but he was. With a nod he greeted everyone, directed his words to Rogers, but let his gaze linger on Dooley a little while longer. James saw how his eyes widened, recognizing James’ respect towards him for what he’d done. Then James looked from Dooley to Billy to Rogers.

“Found the worst rat and befriended it. Similar minds align I’d say,” James said conversationally and it filled him with satisfaction to see Rogers snarl. It took him a moment to regain control over his features, but then he nodded to Billy and pressed the pistol pointing at Madi’s head into Billy’s hand. With a step forward, as if he wanted to greet an old friend, he spoke.

“I’ve taken worse business partners. You, for example.”

Another time James would have gotten enraged by such words, but now he was too tense and saw too clearly through Roger’s game to play it. So he just shrugged and said nothing.

“The cash!” Roger ordered, visibly annoyed that he was going nowhere with his jabs. It would have amused James, were the circumstances any different. Instead he focused on what lay before him. Now was the critical point, James was aware of it, so he lifted his hand, but held it there, reluctant to give an order just yet.

“I’ll show you the content, then I want you to release them and while they get back into the boat, you can get the chest,” he said with a tone that didn’t allow arguing. His jaw was tense, his eyes solely fixed on Rogers, ignoring Madi’s scowl, Billy’s traitorous stare and Dooley’s awe. To make this work, he had to focus and not get distracted.

“Who promises me that you don’t run the moment they’re in the boat?” Roger asked and James had known this question would come. A muscle in his forehead twitched, but other than it, nothing gave away his tension.

“I’ll be one of the men to carry the chest to you. The other can be one of yours. How about this one there,” he said and nodded towards Billy, his heart filled with disgust. How could he have ever trusted Billy with his crew? He knew his old boat’s swain had sunken low, but this was the bottom of the sea. John, James knew, had once called him a friend. “After all he never was interested in the gold.” It bordered on sarcasm.

Roger’s gaze flickered to Billy, mistrust visible, eyeing the man up and down and back up. Then he looked back at Flint and nodded, anger somewhere locked in his jaw. He lacked alternatives.

“Fine, open the chest.”

Finally, Flint let his hand sink and two of the remaining men in the boat opened the chest to show its content. From this distance, it looked like it was filled with all the gems Rogers believed to be in there. It was hard to withhold a smirk to appear. A few moments nothing happened, then Rogers nodded, and the men closed the lid, again, lifted the chest off the boat and placed it into the shallow water.

Flint waited until one of the redcoats opened the keys around Madi’s and Dooley’s wrist, who rubbed it first, before walking forwards. Madi followed him after a moment, her eyes fixed on James, who had stepped back to Julius, close to him to be able to whisper and know not to be overheard.

“Get back to the boat, get ready.”

He nodded slightly, a tick of his head more than a nod and stepped back, as did James. Placing himself next to the cash, James waited for Billy, who followed a little after Madi.

Anger was written in her face, subtle but there. It was in the hard edge of her mouth, the darkness of her eyes and the way she stared at James. It hurt, but she would understand eventually. Still, her words stung, when she came to a halt next to him and asked, “Why?”

James mouth twitched. “For John,” he answered quietly, for her ears to hear only, then he added, almost not audible, “Tell him I’m sorry.”

“What have you done?” she said, shocked and her eyes became wide, softer somehow, but James only mumbled, “Go”, before he pushed her slightly, to indicate she should get into the boat. Thankfully, Dooley grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Joji had started to push the boat back into the water. Then Billy was there, to get the cash.

“Never believed you to be the one to agree to this,” Billy said, grinning like the madman he was. How many years had he served under him, and he really believed James had agreed to this? It was good he was no more a man of his crew. Him and Roger really fitted well.

The sand crackled under his boots as Flint carried the chest further to Rogers and his men. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how the boat drifted further into the water. A little more. Just a little more. He still walked slowly.

“Madi’s important,” James said, waited, assessed. One more moment. One more. “And who said I did agree to it?”

He grinned, showing his teeth, his most dangerous smile, then he rammed the chest into Billy, made him fall. From behind him he could hear shouting, but by now the men and Madi were far enough in the water to make it away. Gun’s got off, but they were aimed at the boat. Another shout, this time it was clearly Madi’s voice, pained, frightened, but at least alive.

“Fucking cunt,” Rogers shouted, when he saw the dirt rolling out of the chest next to the few pouches, where it had fallen into the sand. “Kill him!”

With a grimace James drew his sword. Picturing Thomas, Miranda and John he surged into the fight.

* * *

Night had covered the maroon camp by the time John had calmed down enough to trust his legs, well leg, to hold him again. Still shaky, he forced himself from the floor to his rumpled bed. With absent eyes, he regarded the chaos he had created. His room was a mess, things lying everywhere, most of the furniture flipped, glass shards covering the floor. The worst was that it didn’t feel enough. It didn’t touch John as it should. Empty was what he felt. Completely empty.

“Why did you have to do such a thing?” he mumbled into thin air, feeling the words floating away from him. They were useless, wouldn’t help neither Madi nor James.

No one had dared to knock during his rampart and John was glad about it. The two people who had the courage to ask weren’t here and John wouldn’t have confined in any other person anyway. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to ban the exhaustion, but it only worked partly. They were swollen from the crying. He must look awful, with rumpled clothes, curls tangling around his swollen, blotched face. A fine king he was. A useless one. Couldn’t save a single soul. Not even those closest to him.

Anger bubbled up again and he wished there was anything remaining to throw, but everything useful to do so had been already smashed against the wall. As fast as the burst of rage had come it vanished. There wasn’t any energy left in him.

His gaze wandered to the window, and he looked out into the dark sky. How often had James and he talked in the security of the darkness? Either on the Walrus or in Nassau. Even here on Maroon Island, when James had told him about Thomas.

The memory felt like a slap and his talk with Morgan came back. It had leered in the back of his mind that Thomas was actually alive, but now the knowledge rushed into consciousness with a force. The man James loved, the man he had started all this for, the war, the fight, every step towards a free Nassau had been for him. A mystery. Captured, and put in chains, send to prison.

They were fighting for freedom. James was fighting for him, and no matter there was a huge possibility – something everyone believed and John didn’t accept – he could die, John was committed to him. If James fought for Madi, John could fight for Thomas.

With a jolt he stood up, finally finding the strength he had searched for. Thomas would not remain any longer in this camp! John would see to it.

Determination found him as he walked out into the quiet village of the camp, to find Morgan and a shovel. He would get the man some gems, so he could buy freedom to a former Lord. James’ Lord. He owned it to James, and he hoped something, anything, would reach out and tell his captain that there was more than one reason to go stay alive.

* * *

“No! NO!” Madi screamed, as she ducked behind the railing of the boat, to prevent getting shot by the bullets flying in their direction. But she couldn’t contain herself for long and a moment later her head was back up, to look out for Flint. The man who was currently risking his life for her. His words still rung in her ears. He had planned this. All of this. To save her, for John, obviously, but it didn’t lessen his bravery. But why were they moving away?

“What are you doing? We have to help him,” she stated, when a hand pressed her head back down, and the fight disappeared from her vision. All she saw now was splintered paint on old wood. It smelled of salt and tangle. “Leave me.”

“We were told to not look back and save you. For once I agree with him,” a voice said, which Madi realized must be Julius. A sudden hatred for the man swept through her veins. She pushed against the pressure of his hands, but he didn’t budge. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the other men rowing. It was the wrong direction. They had to help Captain Flint.

“He will die, without help.” She tried again to get out of the grip, reached for his arms and pulled them away. This time she was granted, but when she looked back to the beach she realized why. They were too far away for the guns to reach them. Her eyes went wide when she saw Flint stumbling. Three men attacked him simultaneously. He was still on his feet but he wouldn’t be any longer.

“It was his decision. He knows for death to come,” Julius answered again, calm, too calm for Madi’s liking. Something started to burn in her body, some rage she had tamed while sitting in Roger’s cell. But now it was bound to set free.

“Turn around!” she ordered, but no one moved, despite having all eyes on her. With intent, she looked into each of the men’s eyes. She knew she couldn’t command the pirates, Dooley and Joji, but she could give orders to her men. “I said turn around! Now. We will not let him die!”

With each word, she straightened a little more, and if she hadn’t been on a small boat she definitely would have stood to tower over them. Flicking her gaze back to the beach, she almost keened, when she saw the ever shrinking figure of James Flint fall to his knees.

“Turn around!” she almost shouted. Her mother had told her that a good queen didn’t raise her voice, because the lower you spoke the quieter the people had to get to listen to you. But she couldn’t stop herself, as fear gripped her. This man was so alike to herself, in his dreams and fears and his way of protecting people. She wouldn’t allow for him to die. The war would die with Flint, John would, a part of herself would. It was a hard bite to swallow, the last point on the list of realizations.

Sea salt and wind filled her nostrils but it smelled like blood. It filled her tastes, she could feel it on her wrists, right where her shackles had been. They would kill James, or imprison him, set an example, hang him, expose him.

“Turn around or I will jump into the water and force you to turn around,” she spoke and this time it was with a low, dangerous voice. Silence followed her words, the only sounds the lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat. They had even stopped rowing. Then Dooley closed his eyes, sighed.

“Ma’am, you will stay in the boat, will you?” he asked, and no matter that Madi had no real intention to do so, she nodded. She knew she had to convince them of her safety to make them follow through with her request. “Well, then, let us get back to our capt’n.”

Joji nodded, slowly, not speaking. Madi suddenly recalled she had never heard him speak before, and a part of her mind wondered why he refused the liberation of words. The other, bigger part, was glad. At least until Julius spoke, disdain in his voice so clear it was disgusting.

“Why risking our lives for his? All he will do is lead us back into war. Throw our lives away.”

And it was the last straw Madi needed to surge forward and slam her fist into his face. Shaking it out, as it pulsed mercilessly after the punch, she keened, “You do it, because I am my mother’s daughter and I told you so.”

No one dared to speak against those words, and slowly the rows dipped into the water again, bringing the boat back to the shore. But one look was enough to realize it was, if not too late, very close to it. Her heart sunk, when she saw Flint on his knees, covered in sand and blood, as far as she could make out from afar. His sword was barely raised. It was punched out from his hands and then the tip of Roger’s sword was under his chin. It seemed the man was talking, the satisfied smirk on his face visible even through the distance. Madi wanted to puke.

Around Flint bodies of the redcoats covered the beach. Only two were still standing, as was the traitor of the pirates, Billy, who had caused the damage on the Underhill Plantation. John should have killed him back then. She should have killed him, back then.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the gun, secured in Julius’ belt. It wasn’t far from the beach anymore, and it seemed no one spent any mind on their return. They hadn’t even noticed. Good for Madi, bad for them.

The moment the boat hit the sand, she reached for Julius gun, saw Roger’s laugh as he raised his sword to strike and shouted, “No!”. Then a loud pang rung in her ears as she shot and moments later blood spilled. With wide eyes and face turned to her, her tormentor fell. Woodes Rogers would not harm any of them, no slave and no pirate, anymore.

She didn’t really realize how the other soldiers were taken out. Her focus was too fixed on Flint, James, who kept himself upright with sheer will it seemed. But when Joji held Billy’s arms behind his back, sword against his throat and her other men had taken hold of the two redcoats, his energy seemed to leave him. Madi could see how he breathed out all the tension, the fear, the last pieces of his life and then he fell forward.

Sprinting towards him, she slid onto her knees, wrapped her arms around him and steadied him. Blood and grim dirt covered her blouse, as his chest was pressed against hers, and she could feel his faint breathing against her shoulder. But when she called out no reply was spoken back. Fear gripped her, plain fear, as she pressed the body closer to her, whispering, “Don’t. We need you. John needs you. Stay with me! Flint. Stay!”

* * *

Three days had passed since John had discovered James had gone to rescue Madi. Three days in which he didn’t know if the two were alive or dead. Three fucking torturous slow days. The same pattern again and again. Waking up in a room drowning in chaos, as he hadn’t had the strength to clean the mess, force himself to the small harbor of the village to ask if there were any news – but no there were never – and then wandering to the cliff where he had trained with James. The first time he had brought his sword, had tried to train on his own, but the moment he had risen it, the weight had seemed unbearable. A training session without James was fruitless. No one to tell him “Again”, no one to make his heart beat faster by “watching two points at the same time.”

Now he understood the words. Mrs Barlow and Thomas. Madi and him and James. Two points, two hearts. No need to constrict love when there was so much love to give. Hopefully it wasn’t too late for John to practice. Like James wanted him to do.

In the end, he had let his tears flow freely, with no one to see his misery other than the sky and the ocean. When hunger had forced him back to the camp, he had rubbed the redness and dark circles under his eyes away, but inside he knew he was breaking.

Sleep was barely coming, and the next day the cycle had begun again. Only this time he had forgo the sword. What use was it, when he couldn’t fight with it to protect? When he had been robbed the chance to care for those he loved? What a useless king he was.

Now he sat here again, crutch lying next to his legs, which were drawn closely to his chest. A poor attempt to not fall apart. His chin rested on his knees and silent, slow tears ran down his cheeks. The wildness of them was gone, all that was left was his all-consuming fear and concern. Waiting was like torture.

Sweeping the horizon with his eyes, he wondered what his life could have been had things come differently. If he had never been part of James’ crew; if he hadn’t stolen the page or had decided to not run from his old life by setting foot on a merchant’s vessel, would he now be happier? Or just obliviously living an empty life, lacking the knowledge of love? Would have never meeting James and Madi been worth the lack of pain? There was no answer to it. All John knew was, that after everything he went through, living without them was impossible.

Tears swelled and ran down his cheeks again, a constant flow he was unable to stop. Hiding his face in his hands, he sobbed. It shut out everything around him, the sound of the ocean and birds, the fine smell of salt in the air, even his own shuddering from lack of sleep. So, when a hand touched his shoulder he was startled so hard, he almost jumped into the air.

“John,” a faint voice said and no matter his blurry vision he would recognize the voice everywhere. Pushing himself up, swaying as he had not used the peg leg for a few days, he almost fell into Madi’s body, hugging her tightly and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“You’re back,” he managed to get out, joy so overwhelming he couldn’t turn it into proper action, or words, or anything responsive. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” she answered and then, then he pulled himself together enough to kiss her, press his lips against her mouth and breath her in. Flooded by her smell and her presence his senses narrowed down to their kiss only. It was warm and desperate, fierce in a way that almost bordered on painful. Madi sucked his lower lip into her mouth, bit down and drew blood. It was the most alive John felt in a long while, the pain telling him things were alright for the first time in so many hours. A sudden moan escaped him, his fingernails clutched into her back, both to keep him upright and to feel she was there.

When they let go, he leaned his forehead against hers, one of her hands resting against his jaw, cradling his beard. Her onyx eyes shimmered, but there was a wound on her hairline. He followed the frame of her face down to her neck and chest, and shivered violently when he saw the blood smeared on her blouse.

“What happened?” he asked, afraid of the answer. Then, suddenly, for a moment shoved aside by the sheer joy of having Madi back, but never forgotten, he tensed at the realization who was missing. No. No! “Where’s the captain?”

When Madi made herself loose from him, putting distance between their bodies, John knew the answer. Something in him broke and he crashed down on the sand, unable to even cry. All he could do was stare at the woman before him, at the blood stains, the dirtied clothes and he knew whose blood it was. One part of his heart had been restored. The other lay before him in shards.

Yet, Madi flung herself onto him, embraced him, dragged him towards her chest and he felt tears on his scalp, making their way through his unkempt curls. “No, John. John! He’s here. Alive…”

He froze, his heart beating with hope, uncontrollable hope. So much hope!

“… but I don’t know for how long.”

* * *

“Come with me to bed, please?” Madi asked, but John barely found the strength to lift his head. His hand clutched James’, even harder when he heard Madi’s voice, the skin so cold against his. Two days had passed since they had come back, two days in which James had balanced on the fine line between death and life, swinging like a ship in a storm, wildly punched back and forth, helplessly. Navigation had never been John’s strong suit and to steer James’ power of will was even harder. To do it with sheer body contact was almost impossible, and John felt useless and frightened.

“I don’t want to leave him alone,” John admitted after a while, feeling the silence stretch too long. Madi stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder, a silent comfort, that felt like pressure. He knew he was neglecting her, the woman who had struggled so much, had went through being enslaved, be in chains for the sake of this damn war and John couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take that Madi still insisted to go through with it. “Even without Captain Flint we need to plan,” she had said, and John had wanted to scream. Instead he had said nothing, the numbing pain in him growing.

“You need sleep,” Madi insisted, squeezing his shoulder harder and John flinched. The motion was suppressed immediately but Madi recognized it still, letting go as if she had burned herself. When John turned anger was written on her face. “Tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”

His eyes went wide at the accusation, the words felt like a slap. Turning in his chair, John finally faced Madi fully, watching her, searching her face for a trace. But he found nothing that could turn her words into a joke. Coldness faced him, and he shook violently.

“I love you. I will always want to be with you,” he said flatly, trying to hold back the tears. What was happening here? First, he had believed he was losing Madi, now as he had her back, he was losing James instead, just to lose Madi all over again? Why didn’t life grant him a little bit of happiness? Was he such a bad person that it wasn’t permitted? Too much a thief, a liar, a no-good?

“Then come to bed with me! You hold his hand more than mine. He would understand!” Madi’s voice was rough and husky, close to tears she didn’t allow to flow, but John could see it in her face, in the knitted brows and the dark eyes, so big and insecure. Flickering his gaze to his connected hand with James, he wondered what it really was Madi couldn’t stand, his open care, the lack of intimacy between them or to be faced with a lifeless James, who had after all been her greatest supporter for this war?

 _He would understand_. John wasn’t so sure about it. All he wanted was for this war to end, and not lose any of them. It seemed his wish wouldn’t be granted.

Still, he drew James’ hand close, stroked it with his thumb until he pressed a quick kiss on its palm. Then he let go of James and stood to follow Madi to her hut. They did make love, but only John’s body was present. His mind wandered back to James’ lifeless body, littered with several wounds, one grave at his chest, and one next to his temple. Two days in which he hadn’t opened his eyes, two days in which shallow breathing was the only sign he was still alive. Two days in which the rebellion grew and John was unable to stop it. Five days in which Morgan was gone. Another ten at least would be needed for him to bring Thomas to Maroon Island, and maybe, maybe Thomas presence would be enough to wake James, where John’s wasn’t.

His moans felt absent, his strokes done out of purpose. Madi was writhing under him, but it could be anyone else and John wouldn’t have cared either way. It shocked him, and he knew he still loved her as much as he had before, but right now his heart was bleeding for someone else. After Madi had regained herself from her orgasm, she looked at John, out of sad eyes. She smelled like herself, of flowers and pureness, mixed with sweat, and John would have loved to indulge in it. Instead he gulped down a lump in his throat when she asked, solemnly, “You love him?”

“Yes!”

It was the truth, a truth he had denied for too long, but couldn’t run away from anymore. When Madi let him go, her hands dropping from his back, John pushed himself up, to reach for his clothes. He was dressed as fast as his bad leg allowed. Before he left, though, he turned around again, facing Madi who just lay in bed, looking lonely, but a deep understanding was emitting from her. It soothed John’s heart, to a greater extend than he could have imagined possible. With a small smile he leaned down to her and kissed the edge of her mouth. It was a more honest gesture then all the touches during their love-making.

“I still love you, though. It’s possible to love two people at the same time and would he be here, he could explain.”

Madi just nodded, brushed aside a curl, but said nothing. Not that James was here, or that he would wake up soon to explain. Not a consolation, because there was none. They couldn’t be sure if he ever woke up again, and raising hope just for it to crash again wasn’t helpful. John didn’t know whether to be grateful for it or not. So he made his way to James with twisted emotions in his chest, and when he saw him lying there, not moving at all, he crashed down again, crying into his chest. For all that was won and lost.

* * *

Sleep must have overwhelmed him, because John was startled out of it, when a hand brushed his, then up his arm to his face, caressing his bearded jaw. His first instinct was that it must be Madi, but then- “John…”

All in him froze and part of him didn’t dare to open his eyes, for he feared it might be a dream and it would cause him to wake up, face the cruel reality. Yet, when there was another, “John?” fighting the urge was impossible.

With fluttering lids, John focused on the man before him, especially on the green orbs observing his face. “James!” he whispered, still in shock. The answering small smile hit him like a canon-ball, so open and alive. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around James’ neck as best as he could and inserted himself into his space, hiding his face into James’ skin. Tears welled up, but for the first time in days they were out of relief, and he let them flow. They somewhat muffled his words and took the edge out of his voice. He wanted to sound angry, but he knew it was to no use.

“Idiot. Fucking, damn idiot. Never. Ever. Do that again. Never! You hear me? Never!”

Fingers brushed through his curls, played with them faintly, and a light chuckle shook John, who was laying half on top of the other man, feeling every move like it was his own. He could feel James’ heartbeat and it was steady and the most perfect, most comforting sound John could think of.

“That sounds awfully like you had been worried,” James said lightly, an edge in his voice that came from its lack of use, yet it bordered too much on a joke for John’s comfort. He pressed himself up, careful of James’ wound, but with force. His eyes went hard and the upward curl of James’ lips fell down. Good. Time to joke around was over, in the light of the last few days.

“I was worried. Worried sick! You just tell me you love me and then leave, without giving me a chance to say it back. I believed you’d be dead. I couldn’t… couldn’t. James I can’t –“

His voice broke on the last sentence. Thoughts swirled and something horrid stricken his throat. John wasn’t even realizing that he was clutching the edge of James’ blanket, until James pushed himself up and groaned from pain. Immediately John’s fingers darted from the fabric to stabilize James.

“I didn’t believe you’d remember it,” James said, when he was upright, his green eyes boring into John. They seemed confused, as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around what he had just heard. When his beautiful green eyes widened, John nearly smiled smugly. Would have, in another situation. “You love me?”

The incredulousness in James’ voice lifted weight from John’s chest, and he nodded, as he leaned closer. His fingers brushed around the wound on James’ temple, softly, to not hurt him. For the first time, he seemed to take in every feature of James’ face. The edgy jaw, his freckles, the green of his eyes, the arch of his brow, everything without restraint. It was beauty painted to be brought to life. All he wanted was to kiss those lips in front of him, reassure James completely and thoroughly how much he loved him. Yet, when a thought crushed his brain, he drew back, almost in shock and James winced.

“What? John?”

Had John left his eyes open he would have seen the shadow crossing James’ face, but instead he steeled himself for what he had to tell, before anything happened. To let James decide of what he wanted. Of whom he wanted. John knew the potential was high it wasn’t him. It didn’t matter, though, as long as James was safe and happy.

“James,” he started, breathed in and out and in again, before he looked back at the man he loved so much, that he was willing to rip his heart apart for him. “Thomas is alive.”

Time froze. No sound, no movement, no single emotion dared to filter into the hut. Then something in James darkened. He drew his hand back, rubbed his face and shook his head lightly.

“I’m still sleeping,” he mumbled and John knew how it must sound. Ten fucking years. Ten years in which the world and James had believed Thomas to be dead. But he wasn’t. He was not.

“James.” John wanted the other to look at him, but James refused. He repeated his name, louder, more urgently this time. “James, look at me!”

Finally, he did. Distrustful, irritated, but he looked and John tried to show his honesty by opening up before the man. It was hard to not touch him, but he knew it wouldn’t help. So he fidgeted with the blanket, tugging at it, while he fixed his gaze with James’. “Thomas is alive. Max told me about a working camp in Savannah, where rich English families send their unwanted to make them disappear. English wealthy families like the Hamiltons. I’ve send Morgan to find out if Max’ words were sincere.”

No reply was said. No movement made and it forced John to keep on talking. Dread filled his body, but this had to be done. Parts of him separated himself from James, to lighten the inevitable good-bye. He backed away slightly, built up a wall that separated them. Opened the window for daylight, to bury Captain Flint and bring James McGraw back to life. A life in which Long John Silver had no place.

“Her words were sincere. He was there. He’s alive. I know it’s hard to believe, but I –“

“You what? John?” James interrupted him, and if John hadn’t known better he would say James sounded almost frightened. Yet, that was impossible, right? Right? He reached for his crutch and James followed the movement with his eyes, green and big and wet from unshed tears. It seemed the truth started to sink in.

“I sent Morgan right back, with some of the cash, to buy him out of the place. He’s coming here. I couldn’t,” John chocked, “couldn’t let Thomas be imprisoned. Not when you were fighting to free Madi.“ He pushed himself up, ready to leave. But not before he had said his part. It was hard, but he would manage. “I just want you to be happy. Damn this war, it takes what is important to me, Madi and you. But this was one thing I could make right, so I did. I love you, but I know what Thomas is to you. I know I’ll never be him.”

He was ready to go, step back to give space to Thomas, let the man claim his rightful place. John was James’ quartermaster and it had to be enough. It was enough.

What John wasn’t ready for was James’ hand shooting out, reaching for his and stopping him from separating himself from James’ heart. Sea-green eyes almost pleaded, engulfed him, and the grip around his wrist burned itself under his skin. Left a mark, unremovable.

“I don’t need you to be him. All I need is for you to be you. Even if Thomas is alive,” and John wanted to protest that he was, that he wasn’t lying, but James silenced him with a little shake of his head. Not much words were needed to communicate. “I will believe you, but not just yet. But – John stop trying to interrupt me!” It made John almost laugh, tears pricking in his eyes, his body shuddered, and only the touch of James’ hand anchored him, pulled him towards him, and John sunk back onto the edge of the bed. “I love you. Get it in your tenacious, beautiful head, will you? My heart is capable to love more than one person, and I do and I will.”

If people could fly, John was sure it would feel like this, because his heart was soaring, free of fear and pain and regret. Light, joyous, it lifted him up and when his lips curled into a smile, so bright it felt like his face was split in two, he realized James was staring at his mouth. Damn it, he was too selfish to wait this out, turn it into something awkward, when both of them so clearly wanted it. With a little chuckle, John crashed his lips against James’, kissed and kissed and kissed him, hand stroking over his shaved head, not finding anything to hold onto until his fingers gripped James’ neck. They both moaned when James’ fingers curled into the mess of black curls, tilted John’s head and deepened the kiss. When they let go, John buried his face in James’ neck, nipped at the exposed skin, tasting the salty sweat.

“I have dreamed about this,” James panted into John’s mop of hair, tousling them with a puff of air. “Had I known how enthusiastically you would kiss me, I would have done it sooner.”

“Not my fault you didn’t try,” John answered, biting into the inviting skin, taking pleasure in the sigh granted to him. How easy it was, to be with James, to kiss him, taste him, smell him, take all of him in. Loving him was as easy as breathing. It felt right. It felt liberating. James’ chuckle felt like soft rain caressing John’s skin, bathing him in warmth.

They kissed. For how long escaped John, but neither of them cared. Lips brushed over skin, shoulders, their faces. They sought the proximity, the intimacy, the gentle- and closeness. All the while their fingers stayed entangled, guiding each other’s touch here and there, holding onto each other like the other’s body was their life-line to not drown. No matter all they did was drowning in each other’s presence and reveling in it.

It was one of the few moments, when they just looked at each other, communicating without words, and memorizing every inch of the other, that James asked, “What about Madi?”

John sighed. Closed his eyes. Opened them again and was astonished that James was still there, lying partly next, partly under him, just like before. “She knows. She’s confused, probably, rightfully, but she knows.” Then he smiled, “I told her you would explain to her the concept of loving two people at the same time. You’re better versed at it than I am, more experience and all.”

It drew a mocking smile from James, who tilted his head, as if he was questioning the words. “And here I started to believe you’re so well versed with your mouth.”

It was a delight to see James’ eyes crinkle at the tease, and John surged for his lips. “I show you what my mouth is good for.”

They didn’t hear the door open or the steps as a third person inserted themselves into their secluded space of comfort. Only when words ripped the silence apart, they realized the intruder and John sprung from James, swirling around, instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn’t at his hip. His eyes first became big, then angry.

“So this is what they meant when I was told you’re injured and lifeless. I can’t really see their point.”

“Fuck you, Jack!” John snapped, his mask, he was too used wearing, back on. No one dared to talk too him like this, especially not a traitor who had left without a word.

The contrast of their well-being was almost bordering on insulting. James littered with wounds, John still showing signs of his insomnia and then there was Jack fucking Rackham, well dressed, clothes clean with shiny buttons, standing before them like nothing had happened at all.

But he lifted his arms in defeat and showed his amusement only through a curled smirk. Not that John or James were in any state to fight. “I almost missed that. Yet, Gentleman, I am not here to get insulted, but to make a proposition.”

Without James’ hand on his shoulder John would have lunged at Jack, missing leg and weapon be damned, but James’ presence soothed him. It didn’t mean that his anger had vanished, it was just bubbling under his skin, running through him like his blood.

“What proposition could you make that would interest us?” John spit and Jack had the audacity to smile and twirl his moustache. James hissed, but said nothing, only pressed into John’s skin, being the anchor John needed.

“Well, one that you certainly can’t let pass by.”

No matter that John was still angry, he was also intrigued. What Jack told them, about Boston, the Guthrie family and what it could achieve – it sounded too good to be true. Not to mention he knew Madi and James wanted this war. But… then Jack slipped that the deal contained killing James, and this time nothing was able to hold John back. This was madness. With one hand he gripped his crutch, the other lashed out and punched Jack as hard as he could.

No one said a word, only stared, until John snarled, “Fucking leave!” He would not listen further to this so-called proposition. He had almost lost James just some few days ago and now it was stated like a minor detail in this whole story of incredulities.

“John!” James called, tried to sooth, but John would have none of it. Towering before Jack, he was ready to fight the man, kill him if necessary to protect James. This time no harm would come his way. “John, calm down!”

It was spoken as an order and it hit something in him. An old voice that whispered to better obey his captain. Because James would always and forever be his captain, and John was proud to be a quartermaster to such an amazing man and crew and ship. He backed off, stepped back but still made clear he would stand between James and Jack.

“Do you truly believe I walk into a town full of people willing to fight for this man and intend to murder him on first sight?” Jack sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just like Anne, everyone loses their head when one gets into another’s bed.”

“Fuck you-“

“Jack. Yes, I know,” Jack finished John’s sentence and rolled his eyes. It looked almost ridiculous. He walked closer, around John who wanted to reach for the man, but James made a humming noise, allowing it. John only trailed Jack’s movement with his eyes, turning as Jack stepped close to the bed. “Would you be willing to leave piracy and your captaincy for this? For him?”

Nodding at John, Jack waited for an answer and John realized he was holding his breath. He didn’t dare to hope, fidgeted with his crutch, when he felt James’ gaze on him. Madi would be furious, but it was not her right to decide, not as long as her mother lived. If James stepped out of this, if he did, too, who would lead this war anyway? With pardons on the table, the pirates would not be willing to fight anymore. James, Madi, they would be safe. They could start a life, somewhere.

“I can’t leave this island just yet,” James said, and John’s heart clenched. What… but James kept on speaking. “I was promised someone is about to meet me in just a few days. But I gather you need help convincing the queen anyway.”

All energy in John’s left and he sacked down, only the grip around the crutch held him upwards as he looked at James. Couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. James was giving up the war. For him? For Thomas and him?

“John, come here,” James ordered softly and John obeyed, didn’t realize how he made it to the bed until he sat at his former spot and was drawn into James’ body, his curls caressed slowly. “Thomas, Miranda and I wanted peace for Nassau. We wanted pardons for the pirates and a society in which people can live peacefully, openly. Without shame. I fought ten years for such an outcome and now it’s presented before me, with the chance of an honest governor. If not Featherstone someone else would claim it, now that Woodes Rogers is dead. I’m willing to step away from this fight for a restored Nassau, and live peacefully with you and Thomas and hopefully Madi. It’s not ideal, but it’s real. I will not let you go again and if this is what it needs to achieve it, I am willing to take it. I was willing for years. As long as you’ll stay with me?”

The answer was sobbed into James’ skin, tears flowing freely as his whole body shuddered. But James held him and that was enough. It finally was enough. He was finally enough. “Of course!”

It would have been the perfect moment, but naturally Jack Rackham had to open his mouth, asking more than bemused, “How dead is dead, when you said Woodes Rogers is, well, dead?”

James and John only laughed weakly.

* * *

Hand in hand James and John waited for the boat to reach the small, make-shift harbor of Maroon Island. The river was clear and reflected the sun, shining perfectly down on this long-awaited moment. A part of James still couldn’t believe this was happening, no matter that he could spot the familiar figure coming closer and closer, until he was able to make out features he had imprinted on his memories, never forgotten. The blond hair, the soft features of his face. Thomas was as beautiful as ever, despite the differences. He wore a beard now. His muscles were more defined with the work of the camp. He wore cotton instead of silk and his skin was tanned. But he was still Thomas, and his smile was wondrous and bright and probably mirroring his.

James beamed, his heart beating and only the press of John’s hand reassured him it was no dream. Until the boat was finally hitting against the wooden poles softly, and John gave him a nudge. It didn’t take more for James to step forward, reach for Thomas hand and pull him out of the boat, straight into his arms. Where he belonged. Where he always should have been.

Tears streamed down his face as they kissed, their hands clutching at each other. He felt whole. Complete. Loved and cherished. He felt like his life had finally emended itself into what was right. Almost. Forehead touching forehead, James smiled, looked into Thomas’ eyes and ran a finger down his cheekbone. When it was under Thomas’ jaw, he turned his lost lover’s head to let him look behind James. Where he knew John still stood.

“Thomas, can I introduce you to John Silver. A thief who stole my heart, a liar who bullshited his way into my life until he was unable to lie anymore and a little shit who saved my life.” He turned, reached out for John and without hesitation, the distance was closed, their fingers connected. “John, this is Thomas Hamilton. The man who seduced me into wanting to change the world and changed mine instead.”

“A pleasure,” John said, and Thomas nodded, unable, as it seemed, to reply. But that was okay, James figured, for they had all the time in the world. Now that everything had fallen back into place, again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me giddy  
> Ramble with me on tumblr: [Arzani92](https://arzani92.tumblr.com/)


End file.
